He Started It
by Kgirl1
Summary: Kanan decides to reorganize the Ghost's galley, and bickering—but eventually bonding—ensues. Set pre-Rebels.


**A/N: I hope everybody had a wonderful holiday. This is my take on one of the moments** — **the many, many moments** — **that were along the way of Kanan and Hera becoming Kanera. Hope you like it.**

* * *

Never in his life had Zeb so deeply regretted heating up a bowl of soup.

Hera and Kanan were both in the galley when he entered, tapping at a datapad and poking through the pantry, respectively. Their presence had seemed innocuous enough until the moment he'd sat down to eat—the same moment Kanan chose to excavate every pot, pan and dish they owned from the cabinets, not only creating a racket, but making Hera's posture grow increasingly tense. With each clang of metal, the downward slant of her brows grew deeper, and Zeb's soup started tasting more and more like paste. It wasn't long before Hera cleared her throat and pasted a wide, predatory smile on her face.

Zeb swallowed a lump of soup and braced himself.

"Kanan," she began sweetly, "Could you make a little _more_ noise doing that? I can still hear myself think."

Kanan threw a cockeyed smirk over his shoulder and grabbed two pans, banging them together. "You mean like this?" He called. Zeb groaned and covered his ears; Hera's eyes narrowed to slits.

"I mean the _opposite_ of that," she said frostily, once the noise subsided. "The inhabitants of the nearest _planet_ can hear you."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think?" Kanan shrugged and gave the pans a final bang before slinging them back into the cupboard. "For the record, this job would be a lot quieter if someone had _done_ it in the past five years."

" _Someone_ had more important things on her mind than organizing her pantry," Hera rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, well, your one-twi'lek fight against the Empire probably could have spared the few hours it would have taken to organize this mess," Kanan grumbled, his voice distorted by the depths of the cabinet in which he was shoulders-deep.

"And yet, you've been in there all day," she said.

A cacophony of noise cut off Kanan's retort, as a cabinet's worth of pots and pans tumbled to the ground.

"Son of a bantha—"

" _Language,"_ Hera said.

"You're the youngest one on the ship!" Kanan huffed, withdrawing from the cabinet. "Whose ears are we protecting?"

Zeb watched Hera's face scrunch up; she hated being reminded of that fact. Appetite gone, the lasat moved to put his bowl in the sink. He knew the atmosphere in the room was too tense for any action to go unnoticed, but he still cringed when Kanan called him out.

"See, Hera, Zeb's so distressed by this mess that he can't even eat," Kanan waved a hand at the lasat, who inwardly groaned. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into another one of their quarrels.

"It's not the mess that's distressing him; it's the noise you're making causing it," Hera said.

"The noise wouldn't be an issue, if there had been any semblance of order in this cabinet," Kanan said. "Seriously, Hera, it's like every time you bought something new you just had Chopper toss it in here."

Hera's expression shifted from irritated to neutral, and she avoided his eyes.

"Oh, for Force sake." Kanan dragged his hands over his face. Zeb chose to slip out of the room as Hera began her reply.

"Well, what was I supposed to do—"

"Put them away neatly! Like a normal person!" Kanan flung his arms with exasperation. Hera jerked back, and he huffed, realizing his outburst had maybe been a bit too loud. "Who has a droid organize a kitchen, anyway?" He grumbled, turning back to the pantry. "Droids don't even eat."

She glared at him from the table. "You're the one who just _had_ to reorganize it."

"Well, the universe seemed like it was asking me to, when I opened the cabinet this morning and a frying pan nearly fell on my head," he said.

Hera rolled her eyes. "Too bad the universe doesn't have better aim," she muttered.

"Oh, very funny."

Both of them aimed a huff of exasperation at the other, and for a few blessed seconds, the room was silent. Zeb, whose cabin backed up to the galley, breathed a sigh of relief. But the tension still hung in the air, each of them a fire waiting to be lit, and Kanan provided the next spark.

"Why do you have so many pots and pans, anyway?" He asked, hefting one into an upper cabinet. "I've never even seen you cook."

Hera ignored him, deliberately focusing her attention on her data pad.

"I'm just saying, it doesn't make sense to carry all this extra weight when you don't—"

" _Ugh."_ Hera stood up with a pointedly audible huff in his direction. She put her hands on her hips. "I'm going to go work in the cockpit."

He turned back to the pantry and shrugged. "Suit yourself."

As Hera passed him, she couldn't help but add, "Because _clearly,_ nothing productive is being accomplished in this room."

Kanan just shook his head into the depths of the cabinet. Hera moved through the corridor, resisting the urge to stomp, a resentful fire burning in her gut. Kanan was great crew, but every so often, his attitude made her want to shove him out the airlock. That was the problem with being in space—for better or for worse, they were all stuck to the ship's confines.

The cockpit doors slid open, and she stormed through them with satisfying urgency—only to halt in surprise when Zeb looked up from the copilot's chair.

"Oh, karabast," he groaned. "Is a little peace and quiet too much to ask for on this bloody ship?"

Hera rolled her eyes and moved forward. "Blame Kanan," she said, taking the captain's chair. "He's the one who decided to rearrange that stupid pantry."

"Ugh, you two are like a couple of bickering kits," Zeb said.

"He started it!"

Zeb raised an eyebrow at her. "Exactly."

Hera felt her cheeks grow hot. Older than both of them, the prickly lasat had no qualms about showing his years, especially when his younger crew members were squabbling.

She sank back in her seat. "He's just so, frustrating," she said, flinging her hands out in exasperation. "Are all humans like that? Or is it just the men?"

"Trust me, it's the man in him that's the problem," Zeb snorted. "Just not the way you think."

Hera narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Zeb sighed and turned toward her. "Look," he began gruffly, "When you were a kid, did you ever have little twi'lek boys chase you around, trying to antagonize you?"

"All the time, why—"

"And did your mother ever tell you that it was because they were trying to get your attention?"

"Well, yes, but—"

Zeb cut Hera off with a swift motion of his hand, first gesturing in Kanan's direction, and then back at her.

The twi'lek's jaw dropped open.

"You think _that's_ why he's doing this?" She hissed. "Are you crazy?" Despite her tone, the volume of her voice had dropped down to a whisper, implying that she didn't think he was.

Zeb nodded and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "It's as clear as day, kit."

Hera felt heat rising to her cheeks, and tried unsuccessfully to prevent it. "No," she said, slowly shaking her head. "No, there's… there's just no way. I _told_ him—"

She cut herself off.

 _Had_ she told him?

Or had she just made the decision internally—that her war had already begun and there was no time for romance—without ever conveying it?

"Son of a bantha," she muttered. _The poor guy still had his hopes up._

Zeb just chuckled.

"Whatever it is, you two should probably talk about it," he said, standing up. "Then we could actually get some peace and quiet on this ship," he muttered under his breath as he exited the cockpit.

Chopper slipped in as the doors closed behind Zeb, and rolled up to Hera with an inquisitive beep.

"Oh, hey Chop," she murmured distractedly. "Can you run a diagnostic on the _Phantom?"_

Chopper chirped back affirmatively and plugged in. Hera returned to her datapad, but her mind was racing, incapable of focusing on it. Eventually she shut it down with a sigh.

"Kanan and I," she scoffed at the dashboard, shaking her head. "I mean, that's totally ridiculous, right?" She turned her head.

Chopper propped his manipulators out on his chassis and swiveled his dome, giving Hera a singular, pointed beep.

The pilot sighed and brought her head into her hands. "Son of a bantha."

* * *

Zeb tiptoed toward the galley and poked his head through the door. When he saw Kanan, still surrounded by pots and pans, he immediately drew back, but was too late.

"Hera kick you out of the cockpit?" The human called.

 _Blasted Force user,_ Zeb thought. "Ah, nope," he said, clearing his throat. "Just came by to check on your progress."

Kanan chuckled. "You know, Zeb, for such a good sabacc player, you're pretty bad at lying." He opened one of the cupboard doors. "But I'll take the company—it has to be more pleasant than Hera's."

"Right." Zeb rolled his eyes and moved in to sit. "Like an aging lasat is better company than a pretty twi'lek."

Kanan faltered for only a second, but Zeb saw the blush that rose to his cheeks. Slowly, he slid another pot into the pantry.

"If the pretty twi'lek wasn't so volatile, that might be true," he muttered.

Zeb chuckled. "She'll come around."

Kanan sighed as he shifted a pan. "I was just trying to do something nice for her, you know? I was going to clean this place up, make a nice meal… I mean, it's an absolute mess, and we never cook with this stuff. I thought I was getting two nerfs with one arrow."

"You should do it," Zeb said. "She'd like that."

"Ha." There wasn't an ounce of amusement in Kanan's laugh. "She's certainly been thrilled so far." He said it in that caustic, deadpan tone he often took on when a conversation hit too close to home—the same tone Hera hated, because it usually signaled that Kanan was done giving a matter serious consideration.

Zeb leaned back in his chair. "You know, I knew a lot of warriors like Hera, back in the Honor Guard," he said. "Always focused on the mission, never taking time for anything else. Forgetting to sleep, forgetting to eat… they were some of the most driven people I've ever met."

Kanan's exhale fell somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff. "Sounds like Hera."

"They were also some of our worst fighters," Zeb said. Kanan looked up with surprise. "I'm serious," Zeb nodded. "They would run themselves ragged, trying to do too much too fast. I had to assign them partners to make sure they weren't extending over their scheduled hours—otherwise a lot of them would have burned out."

Kanan nodded, a thoughtful crease in his brow.

"People like Hera need those reminders, that there's a life to be lived outside of work," Zeb said. "That there's rooms in this ship besides the cockpit, and meals to be eaten that aren't ration bars." Kanan made a face at that, and Zeb chuckled. He leaned forward.

"Don't get me wrong. Hera's passionate, driven, utilitarian—everything you'd want in a leader," he said, ticking the words off on his fingers. "Unfortunately," Zeb added, his voice taking on a darker tone, "That's everything that makes it easy for someone to lose their self in a cause."

Kanan nodded slowly, and Zeb leaned back, his point made.

"That's why you drive Hera so crazy," he chuckled. "Because you keep her from getting lost in the mission." The lasat waited a beat and then shrugged. "It's also why she should keep you around."

"Yeah?" Kanan chuckled. "Why not you? You seem to have a good handle on this stuff."

Zeb gave him a smirk. "Sure, but I'm not the one who wants to date her."

Kanan's cheeks turned bright red, and the Lasat laughed out loud. Kanan turned back into the pantry to hide his blush as Zeb recovered, a playful grin on his face.

"Besides, it's no fun dating a cause," he said. "Take it from someone who's tried."

Kanan turned back around and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Zeb's lips curled in a wistful grin. "Her name was Lyra. Best fighter I've ever seen," he said, nodding approvingly, "but the worst romantic. For our first date, she challenged me to a sparring match. On our second date, we polished our bo-rifles." Both men chuckled, but Zeb's laugh faded first.

"I started to feel more like a brother-in-arms than a partner," he said. "And nothing against Lyra, of course, but that's a lonely way to live." He stood up and shook a finger at Kanan. "Don't let Hera fall into it."

Kanan gave him a cheeky grin. "Aw, Zeb." He'd slid back into that glib tone. "Are you giving me your blessing?"

Zeb rolled his eyes. "I'm giving you encouragement," he said, nudging Kanan's shoulder. "You're gonna need it."

Kanan's eyebrows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Zeb shook his head and chuckled, jerking a thumb in the direction of the cockpit. "It means that you've got a long road ahead of you with that one."

Kanan glanced in the same direction, and a soft, wry smile lit his face. "You're right about that."

Zeb nodded, bowing his head, and paused before the galley door.

"You should make that dinner," he said, turning back. "And not just because I'm sick of eating ration bars."

Kanan chuckled, throwing the lasat a casual salute. "You got it, boss."

Zeb grinned and opened the door.

"Hey Zeb?" Kanan called. Zeb looked over his shoulder.

"For a bad liar, you're pretty wise," Kanan said. Zeb just chuckled and shook his head before he slipped out.

"You're welcome," he called behind him, lumbering down the corridor. Kanan watched him go with a smile.

* * *

Two hours later, Kanan called them into the galley. Hera slid the door open, bracing herself for another mess, another volley of taunts, she didn't know what—only to find the tension in her shoulders slack, as the aroma of… of _something_ hit her nose and made her mouth water. She closed her eyes, still standing in the doorframe, and inhaled again.

"It's baked dru'un slices in fish sauce."

Hera snapped her eyes open—Kanan, tending a pot on the stove, was looking at her with a sheepish smile.

"We used to eat it in the Temp—… on Coruscant," he said, the smile slipping from his face. He was surprised when Hera came over and squeezed his shoulder.

"It smells _wonderful,"_ she said. The light in her eyes made him forget every other time he'd eaten this meal—now there was just him, and Hera, and the same tiny galley kitchen that was as full of aroma now as it had been with insults earlier.

"I figured I should put these to good use," he said, nodding toward the pots on the stove. Hera had opened one of the cabinets, and was nodding approvingly at the organized contents.

"I have to admit," she said, "it does look much better."

Kanan chuckled and stirred the sauce. "Thank you."

He was finishing the meal as she inspected the other cabinets, which was why he didn't notice when she leaned against the wall to watch him work.

"You know, it was my mother, who liked to cook," Hera said, out of nowhere. Pleasantly surprised, Kanan looked over at her.

"Half the time we spent together, I was helping her in the kitchen," Hera said. "After she died in the Clone War, my father had all of our pots and pans turned to scrap metal for the war effort."

Kanan's eyebrows jolted up. Hera was gazing in the direction of the stove; her eyes somewhere far away.

"I felt like he'd taken a part of her away from us, so when I left home, I promised myself I would stock my kitchen just like she had," she said. Her gaze focused, returning to the space, and she lifted her eyes to Kanan's.

"Unfortunately, it turns out I'm a terrible cook," she said, a wry smile cracking her lips. "All those years helping her in the kitchen never amounted to much for me."

"Stars, Hera," Kanan said. "I'm so sorry."

She looked at him, her eyes soft. "I'm just glad somebody's finally putting them to good use."

He shifted his weight. "Well," he said, with a demure shrug, "we'll see about good use after you taste it."

Hera just grinned. The earnest moment lapsed into a too-long beat of silence, in which she cleared her throat and lifted her comm to her lips.

"Zeb?" She said. "You coming?"

"Go ahead without me," Zeb said. "I'll eat later."

"Eat later?" Hera couldn't hold back a laugh. "Zeb, are you feeling alright?"

"Very funny," the lasat said dryly, before signing off. Hera exchanged a quizzical look with Kanan, who shrugged.

"I guess my mess did make him lose his appetite," he said. Hera gave a subdued laugh, and shifted her weight, her eyes darting down to the floor.

"Actually, it was probably my short temper that did that," she admitted. He lifted his eyebrows at her in surprise, and she gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry I was such being such a gutkurr about it."

He raised one shoulder in a shrug. "Better a gutkurr than a lylek, right?"

Now it was Hera's turn to be surprised. A smile lit her face. "You _do_ listen to me," she teased.

"I always listen to you," Kanan gave a modest shrug. Hera blinked—obviously not expecting such a candid response to the quip—so he hastened to add a wink and say, "I just don't always comply."

The puzzled look on her face shifted to one of amusement. "There's the Kanan I know," she said. He chuckled, dished up a plate, and handed it to her.

"Let's eat."

Hera felt a buoying warmth in her belly throughout the dinner, and it wasn't from the home-cooked food. Kanan was making her laugh, relaxing the ever-present tension between her shoulder blades, and even telling stories of his own. She wasn't even miffed when he mocked her from earlier— _Can you chew a little louder, Hera? I can still hear myself think_ —and not once throughout the meal did her mind jump back to her datapad.

She'd walked through the galley doors intending to set things straight with the human—that she had no intention of getting involved with him romantically, and that there was no time for that even if she had.

But—Hera thought to herself, as she watched him tuck back a strand of hair that had come loose during their laughter—that conversation could wait another day.


End file.
